


Circle of Fiends

by combatfaerie



Series: Fiend Zoned [2]
Category: World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: Confinement, Don't copy to another site, Firefly Fun House - Freeform, Gen, Mind Games
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-03
Updated: 2019-12-04
Packaged: 2021-02-26 03:02:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 17,429
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21656455
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/combatfaerie/pseuds/combatfaerie
Summary: A sequel to FIEND ZONED. When Becky Lynch goes missing, Seth Rollins automatically suspects The Fiend is responsible, but no one believes him. While Seth fights for answers, Becky struggles to keep her sanity.
Series: Fiend Zoned [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1561318
Kudos: 22





	1. Chapter 1

"What do you mean, _She's gone_?" Seth glared at his friend and trainer, but his web cam couldn't possibly have conveyed all the frustration and panic in his eyes. "How can she be gone? You can't exactly lose her in a crowd! She's loud and her hair is _bright freakin' orange!_ " After huffing out a long breath, Seth forced himself to lower his voice. "She has to be there somewhere. She just sent me a video." Then he grabbed his phone, tapped through to the message Becky had sent him not even twenty minutes ago, and put it in front of the camera lens. "Gym all to myself," he echoed. When he had first read the caption, it had been playful and teasing, nothing more; now it felt belatedly ominous.

Joshy shrugged again. "Dude, I'm telling you, I don't know. I just went out to get some paper because I ran out. I checked with Becks to make sure she didn't mind and that she wasn't going to do any exercises that needed a spotter, and she said she was good. I went to the store, got my stuff, came back, and . . . she was gone."

Seth shook his head vehemently and flexed his hands, trying to calm himself down. It had to be an elaborate prank. There was no way she could be back in Davenport, getting ready to surprise him, even if she had changed the time stamp on the video and asked Joshy to lie for her. "Maybe she just took a break and went to get a coffee." It was a weak possibility and Seth knew it: Becky liked her coffee either before or after a workout, never during.

Joshy knew it too, but he still humoured him. "Doubt it, man. I knocked on the locker room door, thinking she might have finished up early and went to shower, but she wasn't there. All her stuff's still here, though: street clothes, purse—"

"It's just a coffee!" Voice rising, Seth gripped the edge of his desk, barely registering how the wood creaked under his grip. "She could have just taken some money with her!"

"Seth." Joshy, normally so lively, almost looked downright grim. "I found her phone in the gym. It . . . it looks damaged, like she dropped it or—"

"Oh, come on, man." Seth leaned back in his chair and rubbed his face with both hands. "You and I both know how attached she is to her phone. She was freaking out in Hawaii when I accidentally dropped her phone in the ocean. She wouldn't leave it th—" Seth's hands dropped away from his face as the last thing Joshy said finally sank in. "Damaged? Damaged _how_?"

Joshy flinched back a bit. "Like I said," he stammered, "like she dropped it or—"

"Or like someone threw it on the ground?" Seth felt like all the blood in his body was slowly seeping away, leaving his limbs numb and his mind reeling. "Where is it?"

After disappearing from the screen for a moment, Joshy returned to his desk with Becky's phone in hand. Seth knew it almost as well as he knew her, and he recognized the case on sight; thin cracks spread across the bottom of the screen. "It was on the floor," Joshy said softly, "and not by the station where I saw her last, but obviously she could have started a new exercise. . . ."

Seth shut his eyes and let out a long breath. He never invaded Becky's privacy; she looked through his phone on occasion, but it was only ever to plant little surprises for him—or occasionally prank him by changing some settings, like the time she changed all his contacts to the names of Star Wars characters. He had given her his passcode so she could access whatever she needed when he wasn't around, and she had offered to tell him his, but he had declined. His online persona got in enough trouble; he didn't need to bring that heat down on her and ruin her social media mastery. "Open it," he said with a sigh. "I'll take the blame for it if she gets mad."

Joshy stared at him blankly for a moment. "I don't know her passcode, man. You know I don't even like having phones in the gym except as tracking tools."

It gave Seth a chance to second-guess himself. There might not be anything on her phone that would be of use, especially if it was damaged. But Becky wasn't the type to leave—especially without her purse or, at the very least, her phone—without letting anyone know. Even when the two of them had a fight, she was more likely to tell him she needed space than she was to throw a dramatic fit and storm off. "I'm not sure what it is either," he admitted. "But try 1031."

"1031," Joshy repeated, even jotting it down on a sticky note for good measure. After looking at the number for a moment, he added, "Is she a big fan of Halloween—the holiday or the movies?"

"Yeah." Seth had to look away. The number had nothing to do with Halloween at all; he hadn't even realized the connection until Joshy had mentioned it. To him, to Becky, it was a room number, back from when they had still been resisting the idea of dating. They were still hanging out constantly; their goodbye hugs were lasting longer, their phone calls were more frequent, and there were more and more small, secret kisses that neither of them would talk about but both of them started and savoured. One night, after an event, they had been late signing in at the hotel—late because of those kisses, and hands sneaking under shirts, and whispered words that could still turn him on just by remembering them—and the desk clerk had informed them of massive water damage across several floors. The hotel did their best to find other rooms for all those affected. After glancing at Seth briefly, Becky told the beleaguered clerk that they could share a room, and the clerk was so relieved to be dealing with clients who weren't yelling at him that he completely missed the loaded look that Seth and Becky had shared. They had managed to keep it platonic all through the elevator ride and even down the hallway, but as soon as the door to 1031 was closed behind them, they were kissing hungrily. They ended up having sex for the first time that night, and whenever WWE went through that city again, Becky always tried to book the same room. 

"Seth?" It sounded like Joshy had been trying to get his attention for a while, and Seth rubbed at his eyes. He couldn't afford to indulge in happy memories if Becky was missing. "It's open." When Seth glanced back at the screen, he saw Joshy holding up Becky's phone, all the apps on her screen lined up in some arcane order that combined preference, colour, and shape.

"Check her most recently used apps." Seth's voice croaked as if he had aged fifty years in the past five minutes. "If . . . if something happened, she might have tried taking a picture. . . ."

"Okay. But is there anything I shouldn't see?" Joshy tried to make it into a joke, but then his face went pale. "Shit."

"What?" Seth leaned forward, wishing he could pull himself through the screen and be at the gym, with Becky's phone and purse and hopefully that much closer to _her_. "What is it?"

"I . . . well, it’s blurry, dude," Joshy began slowly, "and the lighting looks really low, so you can't make a whole lot out—"

"MY FUCKING WIFE IS MISSING!" It was a roar of frustration and fear and helplessness, and Joshy deserved none of it, but Seth had to let some of it out. When he tugged at his hair, even the constellations of small pains didn't help him focus. "WHAT IS IT?"

Joshy held the phone out at arm's length, as if wanting to distance himself from the image. "Remember, man, it's blurry; it could be anything."

It _was_ blurry. It _could have_ been anything. But Seth knew it was The Fiend.

"Shit. Shit, shit, shit." Seth ran his hands through his hair again. This couldn't be business. Hunter would never let a stalking angle go this far. And as far as he knew, Becky hadn't ever had any meaningful interactions with Bray Wyatt, so he could only be targeting her to get to Seth. "What . . . what else is there? Any more photos? Videos? Anything? Did she try to call—?" Seth glanced over at his phone and felt a pang of guilt. He had been playing video games when she sent her video and the notification sound had startled him, so he had turned the volume down. What if she had called him and he hadn't noticed because he'd been engrossed in his game? He quickly thumbed his way through his notifications, but there were no missed calls or voicemails.

"Um." Joshy fumbled with her phone and it took everything in Seth not to scream. "No calls that I can see. Last one was to Charlotte?"

Seth nodded bleakly. "They've been trying to set up a double date for a while. Andrade has a place in Mexico and he invited us. . . ." He lowered his head into his hands. It was so agonizing, not being able to do anything, being so far away from where she had been. "What about the videos? Anything there?"

"Yeah, just a minute. There's the one she sent you from the gym and— _fuck!_ " Joshy dropped the phone like it was burning him, and he kicked his chair far enough away from his desk that he almost left the screen. "Fucking shit."

"WHAT? Fuck, Josh, what is it?" He had spent so much of the past ten minutes yelling that his ears were starting to feel raw. "Joshy, please. . . ."

Shaking out his arms, Joshy pulled his chair back to the front of the desk and grabbed the phone from where he had dropped it. "I'll . . . I'll send it to you. I think you should probably show it to Hunter. . . ." Seth could see Joshy's fingers twitching as he fumbled his way through Becky's messenger and a few seconds later, Seth's phone pinged beside him. "I didn't turn up the volume," he added, not meeting Seth's gaze. "But I think he's talking. . . ."

Seth started to jack the volume on his phone, but then thought better of it. The Fiend was all about jump-scares and startling people. He settled for putting the volume up about ten percent and holding the phone close. 

Framed by darkness, The Fiend loomed, head tilted to the side like a curious dog. _Why haven't you come to visit my friends, Seth? Why did you let it come to this?_ As he said _come to this_ , he lifted his right hand to reveal a handful of red hair.

_Orange hair_ , Seth corrected; Becky had never really aimed for a natural shade. Which hand wore the _Hurt_ glove and which wore the _Heal_ one? He couldn't remember. He couldn't think. He couldn't do anything but watch as the hair—Becky's hair, maybe still attached to her head, maybe not—slid through his fingers. 

_Flames burn brightest in the darkness, Seth. You know that. They need each other, the fire and the dark._ Then The Fiend held up his left hand, and Seth could clearly read _Heal_ across its knuckles. Pinched between his thumb and forefinger was Becky's engagement ring, glittering like a tear. _But Becky's visiting my friends now, and I'm sure they'll get along just fine—just like a house on fire._

Then an avalanche of laughter began, synchronized at the start and then shattering into more masculine, abrasive chuckles and sharp, feminine giggles, both burying him in despair. "That's not Becky," Seth said slowly, staring down at his phone. The video was starting to go dark as well, The Fiend's ghoulish face dissolving into the blackness as the laughter continued. Becky's laugh was husky and loaded with mirth and innuendo; that giggle had pure malice.

"Should I call the cops?" Joshy's voice jarred Seth back into the moment; he had been spiraling down into the laughter, the darkness, desperate to find any clues that might tell him where Becky was. "I know we don't have much to go on. . . ."

Seth shook his head. "No. I'll call her friends and see if they know anything, and I'm seeing Hunter first thing tomorrow, so I'll show him the video. . . ."

"I'll stay at the gym," Joshy said softly. "I'll make sure someone's here 24-7 in case . . . in case Becky comes back here. I'll keep my phone on, and I'll ask around the neighbourhood, see if anyone saw anything suspicious. . . ."

"Thanks." The word was hollow, though, as empty as Seth felt. He had stopped the video and closed it, but the duet of maniacal laughter was still cascading through his brain, and now he wished he could get lost in memories of room 1031 again. But try as he might, when he tried to picture Becky, he couldn't see her head on his chest or her hand twined with his. He could only see her hair clenched in The Fiend's hand and then falling away.


	2. Chapter 2

Black had many shades, Becky knew. As someone who had a lot of black in her wardrobe, she knew that some of her black shirts had red undertones while others were more blue or purple; whoever thought that all blacks matched each other clearly didn't pay much attention. This darkness, however, was unceasingly black, and there wasn't even the barest speck of light. As soon as Becky had woken up, she had felt around for her fitness tracker, her bracelets, her engagement ring, but all her jewellery was gone. Since her workout hadn't involved running outside, she hadn't bothered wearing anything reflective—not that there was any light to reflect.

"Well, shit." Becky stretched out on what she assumed was a floor and kept her eyes wide open, hoping they would adjust to the darkness soon. As she concentrated on keeping her breathing even, she tried to assess herself for injuries. Her head hurt, but there were no obvious bumps or cuts. Her neck was fine, her shoulders, her arms; there was a dull ache across her ribs, but no worse than any ring injury she'd ever had. Working slowly and steadily, Becky made it down to her toes, but only her ribs and her left knee seemed to be worse for wear. "One good thing," she muttered. Then she started patting herself down. She could tell she didn't have her phone on her, and she vaguely remembered dropping it on the floor, which gave her an idea.

"C'mon, eyes," she muttered, stretching out her arms as if she were making snow angels. She didn't touch anything in her immediate reach, and the floor felt like generic tile. "No congealing blood or pools of piss. Another good thing."

Becky knew she was talking to herself, but somehow it made the darkness feel less cloying. She had counted off roughly five minutes and she couldn't perceive any noticeable difference in her sight. The darkness was still unrelenting. After raising her arms to test how much space was above her head, Becky sat up slowly. There was no way to tell if she was in an empty warehouse or a crowded attic—unless she did some investigating. She could imagine Seth rolling his eyes, reprimanding her, and it somehow made her both more anxious and more determined. Reaching down, she untied one shoe. Walking around an unknown place without something on her feet probably wasn't wise, but she didn't have a lot of options. 

Then she let out a test scream. Between her acting gigs and her wrestling career, Becky had learned how to use her voice. One of her friends had gone into archeology and told her how they were taught to measure distance using their natural strides or by the length of their arm, and Becky had learned to use that in the ring, but she also applied the theory to her voice. This scream was a microphone-friendly one, designed to deliver volume without making anyone's ears bleed; in a smaller venue, it could carry quite well. 

Here, the darkness ate it whole. She tried whispers and regular speech, banshee-like shrieks and smacking her shoe against the floor. The darkness devoured them all without prejudice; if there was a time delay or an echo, Becky couldn't detect it. When she tried to bring her shoe up to her face, she nearly hit herself in the nose. "See, Nia, I could do that myself," she muttered. At least ten minutes had to have gone by, and her vision still hadn't improved; even with the shoe touching her nose, she could barely see it. "Sit," she commanded, setting the shoe on the floor and standing slowly. "Stay." Careful not to budge the shoe, she lined up her unshod foot with it, waved her arms and swept a leg in all directions to test for immediate obstacles, and started to walk, careful to keep the length of her stride constant. As she moved forward, she kept testing her surroundings with her arms and feet, hoping she wouldn't collide with anything dangerous, but she didn't hit anything until she was about twenty feet away from her starting point. Then she bumped into a wall and as much as she wanted to follow it, she forced herself to return to her shoe. "This is going to take forever," she cursed. It was tempting to jog back part of the way, but instead Becky counted her steps on the return journey, happy when her numbers matched upon reaching the shoe. "See, babe, I can count reps." When she finally saw Seth again, she was going to tell him that and he would just laugh.

God, did she miss that laugh.

It wasn't until Becky had to cough that she realized she was crying, hot tears coursing slowly down her cheeks. "Get it together, Lynch." After she wiped fruitlessly at her eyes, she took a deep breath and headed out in the opposite direction. That was a shorter trek, only about fifteen feet, and as she recounted her steps on the way back, Becky tried to do some conversion as well. "Ten metres? Sure." After she turned and went the other directions—east and west, she called it, to keep things clear in her calculations—she figured that the room was about ten metres by ten metres. "Please say this isn't some tiny house bullshit. Or an IKEA apartment."

Once she made her way back to her shoe after her final test walk, she sat down and put it back on, humming as she tied the laces. She hadn't run into anything yet, so the room could be empty—or there could be death traps to either side of her path. There was no way to tell, but doing nothing would just make her cry more, so Becky stood, chose a direction at random, and walked towards the wall, touching it with one hand as she walked along it. It felt painted, not wallpapered, and it wasn't flaking under her fingers, yet it still felt old somehow. It reminded her of grandparents' houses in general: almost always tidy and loved, but inevitably need of small repairs.

Within about five metres, Becky's knees collided with something—possibly two somethings. The left hit something relatively soft but sturdy, while the right hit something definitely from the metal family. "Fucker," she swore, taking a step back and reaching out with her hand.

_Becky? Is that you? I'm so glad you're here!_ The voice was small and bouncy, making her think of hyper puppies tumbling over each other in their desire to play. _I didn't really get a chance to talk to you, not like Abby and Mercy and Huskus did, and I'm such a big fan!_

Abby. Mercy. Huskus. Becky took another step back as she ran through the names of the Firefly Fun House dwellers. The voice sounded nothing like Bray or The Fiend, so that only left one other character. "Rabbit?" Becky slowly lowered herself to a squat; the voice seemed to be lower, as much as she could judge in the disorienting darkness. "Oh, it's Ram—"

_Rabbit's fine! I'm surprised you even know who I am! You're so busy and all, being The Man and The Champ and being with Seth, and I didn't get a chance to introduce myself at the signing._ The voice started to quaver. _The Fiend said that was bad manners. I told him it wasn't my fault. I was going to, honest! But I didn't have a chance to, that's all!_

Becky took a deep, shuddering breath. _I'm in a dark room with a puppet. Maybe._ It was ludicrous, but there were much worse alternatives. "Where am I?"

_Are you crying?_ The rabbit almost sounded alarmed, like he was going to get punished for yet another failure. _Don't cry! You're safe here! Things were getting so nasty between Seth and The Fiend, and Bray was worried that The Fiend might hurt you to get at Seth._ Becky still couldn't see, but she had the sense of the voice—and by extension, the speaker—getting closer. _So Bray tricked The Fiend, but don't tell!_

When something fuzzy and matted touched her lips, Becky almost jumped, but a childhood memory flashed through her mind of her brother pressing a shushing finger to her lips when they were watching a bootleg wrestling show past their bedtime. Was the rabbit actually trying to help her? It wasn't as if she had a lot of options—how could she try to escape, after all, if she couldn't even see?—so she decided to play along . . . for now. "I won't," she whispered. "How did he trick him? What did he do?"

_He told The Fiend that you're Seth's weakness, that Seth would come for you. So The Fiend came for you first and brought you back to the Firefly Fun House, but then when The Fiend went away, Bray hid you!_ Rabbit gave a triumphant laugh. _So now you're safe!_

"Who . . . who else is here?" Becky asked. She would rather know where she was and how to get out, but she didn't want to push the rabbit too soon. He seemed like such a skittish thing, and she wasn't entirely convinced he wasn't working for The Fiend.

_Just me and you, for now, but Abby will be here later. To help you with . . . you know._ Rabbit's voice dropped conspiratorially. _Girl things. And Mercy's making sure The Fiend doesn't get in._

"What did I hit?" Becky asked next, rubbing her right knee gingerly as she sat on the floor. Maybe it was all a delusion. Maybe she was talking to herself. It beat sitting in the middle of the darkness and panicking, at least. 

_This? This is your bed, silly! What, did you think Bray would leave you in a nasty old barn or in some abandoned warehouse?_

Becky felt something soft tug on her hand, and she let it lead her fingers to something soft, but full of holes—smooth holes, though. _Probably an afghan,_ she reasoned. "That's . . . nice."

_Bray said you get cold easily. He watched some shows about you. The Fiend made him. Research, he said. But turns out it's a good thing, because now he knows how to keep you comfy!_ Rabbit paused to cough a bit. _It's a pretty sweet room. You have this bed and a nice rocking chair, just like Bray used to have, before that bully Ambrose broke it. Good thing he's gone now, huh?_

Standing slowly, Becky felt in front of her, trying to get a sense of the dimensions of the bed. It seemed to be at least queen-sized, with an old-fashioned metal headboard and at least five layers of blankets, no two out of the same fabric. "I have to go to the bathroom," she said. In movies, hostage takers always saw right through that ruse, but she was banking on Rabbit not being quite that bright.

_You have one of those too! Toilet, sink, shower. Pretty swell, if you ask me._ Worry crept back into the rabbit's voice. _It's . . . I mean, it's right there. Can't you see it?_

"No." It felt like it should be a question, and Becky sank onto the bed. She expected to hear the protesting squeal of rusting, aged springs, but the mattress was surprisingly firm. "I . . . I can't see anything. It's too dark."

Becky had the sense of movement again and then something was dabbing at her eyes. _What do you mean you can't—oh. Right._ The gentle touch moved down to her hand, almost a consoling pat. _Yeah. Abby will explain that. But I can help you over to your bathroom,_ Rabbit offered, _and then I'll give you the rest of the tour! Bray thought of everything! I bet Mercy wishes his box was half this nice. You've got a little fridge with food and some water, and new clothes to wear, and. . . ._

From what Becky could remember, the rabbit was quite small on Firefly Fun House, not much bigger than a tube sock. Yet somehow he managed to move about quite freely, taking her by the hand and guiding her forward to a door. Her first hope was that the bathroom would have a light, no matter how dim or creepy, but after the rabbit opened the door for her, she could find the sink, toilet, and shower by touch—even a small supply cupboard that seemed as well stocked as any hotel she'd stayed in—but there was no light switch to be found.

Unable to see, Becky had to rely on hope: hoping Rabbit had stayed outside the small bathroom, hoping that there were no creepy spider webs dangling from the ceiling or wet smears on the toilet seat. She would extend that wishing streak to hoping there was a light in the fridge Rabbit had mentioned, but she doubted she would be so lucky. At least her shoes weren't sticking to the floor; that had to be a good sign.

The darkness, however, remained as always, as thick and unfathomable as it had been when she had first woken up. Rabbit had said Abby would explain it, and Becky wasn't sure if that was something to look forward to or to dread.


	3. Chapter 3

As hard as his friends found it to believe, Seth had only tried running away from home once when he was a kid. He'd been about eleven, too young in that era to have a cell phone, and after having a fight with his mom, he'd snuck out of his window and taken off. There weren't many places to go, and he quickly came to his senses and went home, but his mother had panicked all the same, and he never forgot the utter desperation and despair on her face when the cops drove him home. Seeing the squad car, she had assumed the worst: that her son's body—always that level of detachment: _his body_ —had been found and that his dying memory of her would be of raised voices and angry words.

Now he had an inkling of how she had felt. Seth had called every friend of Becky's that he knew, plus half the roster—including Hunter. He had saved the gym video and the clip of The Fiend to every device he had for safekeeping, plus all the external hard drives at his wrestling academy. He had even asked Joshy to courier Becky's phone to him for further evidence, but his friend had flown out with it and the rest of Becky's gym gear instead, leaving his assistant manager in charge of the gym. "A mutual friend was going to housesit for Becky while she was staying with you, and I asked him to keep an eye out," Joshy said as soon as Seth picked him up at the airport. "And I asked her neighbours to call me if they saw anything or anyone suspicious around her place."

"Thanks." Seth's voice sounded as hollow as he felt. How long had it been since he hadn't talked to Becky at least once in any given day, even if it was just a quick five-minute phone call? "Thanks for coming out. . . ."

"Of course, man." Joshy gripped his shoulder. "You shouldn't be by yourself right now. I'd say it's probably nothing and that she'll show up any minute, but this isn't Becky's style. Even if she were pranking you, she would've let one of her friends know what she was up to."

Seth's grip on her bag tightened. "I called them all. I asked them all. I . . . told them about the video, so they know I'm serious. But none of them have heard from her. I know I should probably call her mom or her brother, but. . . ."

"Don't worry about that yet," Joshy counselled, subtly steering Seth away from the curb as they walked to his car. "There's no point in getting them worried if there's nothing wrong, right? Let's talk to Hunter tomorrow." Glancing up at the early morning sky, he chuckled and added, "Today. Whenever. I'll come as moral support, but I don't know how much sense I'll make."

"Thanks," Seth said again, voice soft and distant. All he wanted to do was to open Becky's bag and check her phone, but he concentrated on driving to the hotel so Joshy could get a little bit of rest before they went to Hunter's office.

As much as Joshy claimed he didn't need to rest, he zonked out almost as soon as he sat on the couch, so Seth set a two-hour timer on his phone and started going through Becky's bag. Items he saw all the time and disregarded seemed almost precious now, and while he didn't quite smell her balled-up shirt to catch a hint of her scent, he did leave it on his lap. _She's probably cold. And scared._ He stopped himself from projecting any further; there weren't any good thoughts down that road.

Logging into her phone felt wrong, and even the memory of what 1031 meant to her—and him, and them as a couple—couldn't ease the tension in his shoulders as he started searching. There was The Fiend's video taunt and Becky's clip from the gym, plus a few random workout videos. In the photo gallery there was far more, including candid pictures of friends backstage and more than a few of him taken when he wasn't paying attention. _She's always paying attention. This wouldn't have happened in reverse. She wouldn't have let—_ Seth snorted out a long breath and turned to the window, gazing out at the skyline until he calmed down. There would be plenty of time to lay blame later; he needed to focus on getting Becky back safely—and soon.

An hour hadn't even gone past before Seth started getting too antsy, so he shut off the alarm on his phone, left a short note for his friend— _Joshy, I took off early. Be in touch, S._ —and crept out of the suite all while Joshy was still snoring on the couch. Becky's bag and phone were a small comfort tucked against Seth's side. 

Everything seemed amplified during the short drive from his hotel to Hunter's office. Pedestrians were as slow as snails. Drivers were taking ages to change lanes. The steering wheel creaked ominously under Seth's death grip as he struggled to keep calm. He barely remembered to put the car in park when he arrived at the office, and he ignored his phone when it started to ring. "Sorry, Josh," he muttered as he walked past the reception desk.

The secretary must have been as tired as Josh, because she only realized who had passed her and where he was going when Seth was almost at the elevators. "Hunter's not ready for appointments yet!" she called out, rising from her chair. "You're scheduled for nine, and you need to sign in—"

Seth didn't even turn. "He knows who I am." Glancing up at the ever-present security cameras in the corridor, he added, "He probably knows I'm here too." The secretary kept insisting he sign in, but she never actually budged from her desk, so Seth didn't feel too bad about getting on the next elevator and heading up to the corporate offices. As the elevator rose, he sent Joshy a quick text: _Sorry, man. Heading in to talk to Hunter. I'll catch you up later._

The secretary must have been sending some messages of her own, because before Seth was even fully out of the elevator, the door to Hunter's office opened. "You had an appointment, Rollins. I know being early shows initiative, but there's a logical limit—" Hunter wasn't in full corporate mode yet: his sleeves were pushed up to his elbows, his tie was dangling from his left hand and a take-out coffee cup vented steam in the other. Even now, after so many years behind the scenes, he resisted the suit mentality.

"Becky's missing." Seth came to a stop in the middle of the hallway, Becky's bag clutched to his chest. Just saying it to someone else made it terrifyingly real.

Just like The Fiend had in his video, Hunter tilted his head as he looked at Seth. "Missing?" he repeated. Then his gaze dropped to Becky's bag. "Get in the office."

Seth followed Hunter wordlessly, his feet seeming to drag. Hunter seemed surprised too, so he probably wasn't going to be much help. _Why didn't I stop for coffee?_ Seth cursed himself. Becky was his priority, but coffee would clear his head and that could only help her.

Hunter held out the cup to Seth. "You look like you need this more than I do." When Seth tried to protest, Hunter shook his head. "It's fine. I'll have Catering send up a carafe." Then he went to his desk and picked up the phone. "Hi, Margaret. Can you get a breakfast platter for two and a coffee carafe sent up to my office ASAP, please? No cream or sugar. Thanks." Tossing his tie onto his desk, Hunter sank into his plush chair. "Becky's missing? As of when?"

"Yesterday. She—" Everything in Seth seemed to freeze for a moment, and Becky's bag tumbled from his arms as he fell into one of the visitor chairs.

"Take a moment," Hunter said calmly, coming around to Seth's side. "Have some coffee." Then he pointed down at the bag. "May I?" When Seth nodded jerkily, Hunter grabbed Becky's bag and took it back to his side of the desk. As soon as he opened the bag and saw women's clothing, he paused. "Anything I shouldn't be seeing in here?"

It took Seth a moment to clue in. "Um, underwear, I guess? I never thought to—"

"Seth, I have a wife and three daughters," Hunter said gently. "I see more underwear in the laundry in a month than Victoria's Secret probably sells in a year." He was still discreet, though, and shoved all the articles of clothing to the side. "Nothing missing that you know of?" he asked as he set Becky's phone on the desk. 

"I'll have to ask one of her friends to check out the inside of her place, and I don't know what she all had in her bag." Seth tried to clear his throat, but he ended up coughing. As if on cue, there was a knock on the door and a young woman in chef's garb stepped in, expertly balancing a tray with pastries, a steaming coffee carafe, two mugs, and several bottles of water. "Thank you," Seth murmured as she bowed her head and headed for the door. Once she was gone, Seth reached for Becky's phone. "Do you want the long version or the short one?"

Hunter turned both mugs over and reached for the carafe. "I'd say the short one, but this doesn't sound simple. Tell me everything." He handed the bag back to Seth, who forced himself to set it on the floor so he didn't cling to it like a security blanket.

Seth did his best to summarize the eerie sightings Becky had experienced: Ramblin' Rabbit at the fan signing, Abby the witch in the women's locker room, Huskus the Pig in Catering. Going through the list, he wondered if she'd had an encounter with Mercy the Buzzard as well and she just hadn't told him—or maybe she hadn't had the chance. "Then yesterday, after our trainer left the gym to run an errand, she sent me a video. When Joshy came back, Becky was gone, but these were on her phone." He showed Hunter the blurry photo first, knowing it wasn't wholly convincing. Then he started the video and propped the phone up in Hunter's tablet stand.

"This is her phone?" Hunter asked. When Seth nodded, Hunter paused the video and picked up the phone, examining the physical damage before handing it back to him. "And she hasn't been out of sorts lately? Not distant or aggressive or—"

" _No._ " After sticking Becky's phone back in her bag, Seth rubbed his temples. If Hunter tried making this all sound like some elaborate ruse, he was going to lose it. "She was good. We were good. I was worried about all those weird sightings and asked her to come stay with me for a bit." He ignored Hunter's little frown and pressed on; both he and Becky were getting flak for keeping separate residences even though they were now engaged, but they were both happy with the arrangement and that's what mattered. "She had asked someone to housesit for her, and Josh is going to be in touch with him to make sure everything's okay at her place. But no, Becky was as fine as ever."

When Hunter propped his elbows on the desk and steepled his fingers, Seth prepared himself for Vince-like levels of condescension. "The Fiend is a storyline, Seth. A character. You know that. He didn't kidnap your fiancée. He's not . . . sending toys and puppets to stalk her. If we wanted to include Becky in your rivalry with The Fiend, we would have asked you both." Then he pointed at Becky's phone. "We're not in the found-footage business. If this were a legit angle, we would want staging, proper lighting, all of it."

"So . . . maybe Bray's doing it on his own. To unnerve me." Seth's hands were shaking, and he wasn't sure if it was from rage or indignation. 

Hunter raised an incredulous eyebrow. "Seriously? The man's girlfriend just had a baby this year, Seth. He's at home with his family; he just called Stephanie yesterday to let her know Jojo's almost ready to go back on the road. He doesn't have Becky locked up in some barn."

"Then . . . then he has her somewhere else!" Seth stood suddenly, knocking his chair to the side and downing half his coffee in one gulp even though it was still hot enough to make him wince. "It might not even be far from the gym. She could still be in California—" The thought made him pause. If Becky _was_ still in California, then her best local ally was now practically on the other side of the country.

"Seth. . . ." Hunter scratched at his beard and took a sip of coffee before leaning back in his chair. Seth initially wondered how he could be so casual and calm at a time like this, but then he realized Hunter was also getting further out of reach. "There's another possibility, you know. Maybe she needed a break."

"A . . . a break? _A break?_ " Seth paced around the room, gripping two handfuls of his hair to keep himself from throwing anything. "Now you're saying _she_ planned this?"

Hunter shrugged, swiveling his chair from side to side as he pondered. "Did anyone else see Ramblin' Rabbit? Not according to what you told me. Did anyone else see Abby the Witch? Again, not—"

"I saw the flowers!" Seth interjected, whirling back to face Hunter. "Becky called me to the locker room and I saw them on the floor and then again in her bag when we got to the hotel."

"Easy enough for her to plant. And you saw the pig in Catering, but the room was hardly empty," Hunter pointed out. "Why didn't anyone else mention it? Why didn't they comment on your strange, sudden exit?"

"Because they were hungry? Because they weren't paying attention? I DON'T FUCKING KNOW!" Seth gripped the back of the visitor's chair hard enough that it groaned. "Why would you even think she would do this? She's the Raw Women's Champion! She's on the cover of WWE 2k20! She's on magazines and headlining events! She's worked her ass off for this for so many years. Why would she choose now to take 'a break'?" There wasn't enough vitriol in the world to pour into those last two words.

Hunter cleared his throat softly and took a longer sip of coffee, holding Seth's gaze. "I never said she needed a break from the business."

"Then what?" Cold dread washed over Seth. The only thing that could almost be as bad as Becky coming to harm was someone thinking he was responsible. "You think she needs a break from _me_?"

"Calm down, Rollins." Hunter took a small plate from the tray and picked out some pastries to eat. "I'm not accusing you of doing anything. I'm just saying Becky's an adult. Maybe she's not missing. Maybe she wants to be gone. There's a difference."

"From me." Seth took a shaky step back. "You're saying she wants time away from me."

"I know it sucks to hear, Seth. But think about it. As recently as last year, Becky was adamant about not dating fellow wrestlers. Then all of a sudden, you two are both out on injuries and _Boom!_ You're breaking the internet with pictures of you two kissing and within six months, you're engaged? Doesn't that all sound a little fast to you?" Then Hunter stood and went over to Seth, patting his shoulder. "I'm not saying she's leaving you. Just that maybe she needs to step back for a bit."

"She and I have known each other for _six fucking years_ , Hunter." Seth reached up and batted Hunter's hand away with far more force than necessary. Rage was boiling up in him and if he didn't let it out soon, he was going to break something or someone. "It's not like we just met. And Becky wouldn't . . . If she needed a break, she wouldn't do it this way. She would tell me."

Hunter pointed down to the visitor's chair, the indents of Seth's death grip still very evident. "Maybe she was worried you'd react like this."

Seth's eyes narrowed. "I would _never_ —"

Another knock on the door stopped him from defending himself, and after Hunter told the person to come in, the door opened to reveal Joshy, a building security guard right behind him. "Seth was supposed to wait for me," he said, looking at Hunter. 

"Listen to your friend, Seth. Go home. I'll put out some feelers. Don't call the cops unless you have some actual evidence," Hunter added sharply, picking up Becky's bag and handing it to Seth. "We don't need this to become more of a spectacle than it already is."

"Spectacle?" Seth growled. "She is my wif—"

"We're going," Joshy said firmly, taking the bag from Seth. "If we hear anything or Becky shows up, we'll let you know." Then he grabbed Seth by the elbow and steered him to the elevator. "What the fuck, man? I was supposed to go with you to _prevent_ a meltdown like that."

"He was practically accusing me, Josh!" As they waited for the elevator to reach their floor, Seth paced back and forth. "Said that Becky was an adult and maybe she 'needed a break' and. . . ." He covered his mouth with both hands so he couldn't scream in frustration. "I need to get to a gym. I need to hit things." 

Joshy wisely took a few steps back. "We can do that. I'm driving, though. Give me your keys."

Seth was too on edge to argue, and he followed Joshy in a rage-red daze. The love of his life was missing, and everyone seemed to be passing it off as a joke, as nothing. If his sanity and self-control were already so frazzled and it hadn't even been a full day, he hated to think about the hell Becky could be going through.


	4. Chapter 4

The darkness was constant. Becky had to give it that. In a weird way, it was comforting, but it had utterly destroyed any concept of time she had. For a while, she had tried singing familiar songs in her head, ones she knew the lengths of, but verses got tangled up in choruses and one song bled into another and then her head was a mess. Half a day must have passed; beyond that she couldn't be sure.

Ramblin' Rabbit had left a while ago, so Becky had busied herself with learning the layout of her room. The bed seemed to be tucked into a corner, and the bathroom was at the other end of that wall. The rocking chair had originally been beside the head of the bed, but Becky swore she could hear it rocking when there was nothing in it, so she had moved it to the other side of the bathroom. The fridge was on that side, and Becky was surprised when she had reached inside and felt the distinctive contours of her favourite brand of bottled water. Since she was trapped in darkness and there wasn't much to listen to beyond the sounds she made, touch was becoming paramount, and she traced the shape of the bottle over and over, with the same reverence some people used for prayer beads.

Past the fridge was a box. It was made out of rough wood and Becky had probably spent an hour or more examining it with her hands, but she couldn't find any seam or opening. It was light enough to push around on the floor, but something inside it made a loud _thunk_ every time she stopped moving it, so she pushed it back against the wall. If one of The Fiend's curiosities was in there, she didn't want to anger it.

The third wall, by rights, should have had a door or window, but it was completely solid and bare as far as Becky could reach. She was half tempted to drag the bed over so she could jump up and examine more of the wall, but the bed was bolted to the floor, as was the small table beside it and the dresser on its other side. She didn't know what she had expected for clothes, but the drawers seemed full of t-shirts and leggings, just like what she wore. For all she knew, they actually were hers; Mercy had been in her house, after all, so it wasn't a stretch to think that someone else had been there as well.

That would have been an alarming thought, once upon a time, but the darkness was changing her thoughts minute by minute, fear by fear. Things that would have terrified her before now seemed petty and distant. As she walked back along the final wall, heading toward the bed, she heard a small creak and was surprised that she was excited at the mere prospect of change, of movement. "You're really losing it, Lynch," she muttered, quickening her pace so she could reach the bed. It had become an island of perceived safety for her, and she had almost started naming the different blankets. Once she had her legs crossed and her back to the wall, she gazed out at the darkness. "Rabbit?" she called out.

_Try again, Rebecca._ It was the feminine voice again, ebbing and flowing, eerie and ferocious. _I was waiting for you to quit pacing like a lion in a cage._

"Abby?" Becky vaguely remembered the Sister Abigail storyline—mostly because of the rumours that either Paige or Nikki Cross would be rebranded as some incarnation of her—but she had never heard the witch called anything but Abby. _Better safe than. . . ._ Even in her head, she couldn't finish it. There was no real safety here, not on the surprisingly comfortable bed or well appointed bathroom or the creature comforts like her favourite water.

_That's right._ The voice was closer now, almost close enough to touch, and Becky forced herself to stay still and calm. _That stupid rabbit said you were here, and Bray asked me to look in on you. They thought you might need help with 'girl things'. Fools._

The thought of asking some demented puppet for a tampon almost made Becky laugh. "Rabbit said you would explain why I can't see. . . ."

Abby's laugh felt like someone was trying to clean Becky's ears with sandpaper. _Oh, he did, did he? Well, I certainly CAN._

Becky sighed. Word games, then. She was a master of puns; she could hold her own when it came to semantics. "Will you tell me, please?" Manners couldn't hurt—unless Abby laughed at them. "I've tried keeping my eyes open for . . . minutes, but they aren't adjusting."

Something thin and light brushed against Becky's arm and she almost thought it was a spider's web until she remembered Abby's lace veil. _It has nothing to do with your eyes, Rebecca. It has to do with your belief._

"What do you mean?" Becky wished Ramblin' Rabbit would come back. Maybe he didn't make sense either, but at least he was confusing in a less unnerving way.

_You don't believe. You don't believe in us or this place. You don't believe in The Fiend. That's why you can't see._ A gentle pressure against her thigh made Becky think that Abby was sitting right beside her, but the image was far from comforting.

"That's . . . not true. I've seen The Fiend. I've seen him wrestle. I know he's real." Becky curled her hands around her knees. "And I've seen you and Ramblin' Rabbit and Mercy—"

_Don't you patronize me!_ Abby's voice hadn't gotten louder, but it still seemed to boom through the small space. _You don't think I'm real! You think I'm just a doll in a box, a voice in the dark! You don't think I know how to feel! You don't realize what it feels like to burn!_

Becky was going to try placating the witch, but the last admission stopped her cold. In a movie, it was the type of line that would be followed up with a sharp smirk, a pause, and then a chilling _Yet_. "I don't know what you are," Becky admitted slowly. "You or the others. But you could tell me. I would listen."

_Ha! Only because you have nothing else to do! Enjoy the darkness, Rebecca._ The pressure at Becky's leg lessened; the voice seemed more distant. _It will certainly enjoy you._

And then it was just Becky and the darkness again, but now the crushing blackness seemed more like a cage.


	5. Chapter 5

"Seth, man, if you keep interrogating everyone, they're going to think we're trying to be the next Fashion Police or something." Roman had spent most of the day with him, doing his best to keep Seth calm and focussed, but even his patience was starting to wear thin.

It had been three days since Becky had gone missing and there was still no sign of her, not even a hint. Monday Night RAW was almost starting and Seth had talked to almost everyone he could find, from camera operators to the make-up crew. "If Galina was missing—"

"If my wife were missing," Roman finished, steering his friend to the side to let an equipment cart go past them, "I would be at home and letting professionals deal with it, because that's what they're trained to do."

"Hunter doesn't want cops involved." Seth rubbed at his face. Between Joshy, Marek, and some other friends, he had managed the bare minimum of sleeping, showering, and eating, but every other waking moment had been devoted to finding Becky. "Said she's an adult, she's free to come and go as she pleases. . . ."

"She is," Roman agreed, "but she wouldn't pull this on you. She wouldn't do this to anyone. It's not her way." Pulling Seth into a hug, he took a deep breath. "You haven't told her family yet?"

Seth shook his head. "I don't want to worry them. There's nothing they can do from Ireland, anyway. But something's _wrong_." As comforting as Roman's hug was, Seth forced himself to step back. Wherever Becky was, she didn't have the luxury of hugging a friend. Just as he was about to suggest going back to the women's locker room to see if anyone else had shown up, Seth spotted a familiar face. "He'll know where Bray is."

Roman followed Seth's line of sight and groaned. "Strowman? Seriously? You know Braun's been in a mood lately, man." But Seth was already heading towards the big man, so Roman jogged to catch up. "Antagonizing him won't help. . . ."

Braun noticed the two men approaching and stopped, setting his bags down. "Hey, Roman. Hey, Seth. What's going on?"

"Where's Bray?" Seth demanded.

Roman shut his eyes and swore. "Great use of subtlety there, Rollins. . . ."

For his part, Braun just looked confused. "Bray? At home, far as I know. He was scheduled to be here tonight, but the baby's been sick for a few days so he said he was going to stick close to home to help Jojo out. Why?"

"Becky's missing," Seth said flatly. It wasn't news he was spreading widely, in part so it wouldn't leak. Hunter might not have wanted the cops involved, but headlines on the dirt sheets like 'RAW Women's Champion Reportedly Missing' wouldn't be great publicity for the company either. When any of the crew asked, Seth either made up a vague excuse or simply went on his way; his closest friends and most of hers already knew, and Charlotte looked as bereft as he felt.

It clearly wasn't the answer Braun had been expecting, and he blinked in surprise, taking a minute to reply when Roman shot him a quick warning look. "I'm . . . sorry to hear that, man. Have you talked to Hunter and the poli—"

"Where's Bray?" Seth took another step closer. It wouldn't be very intimidating to a man of Braun's stature, but he needed to make sure everyone knew he wasn't kidding around.

Braun glanced over at Roman, his look a mixture of confusion and _call off your boy before he gets himself in trouble_. "Like I said, Seth, as far as I know, he's at home with Jojo and his kids. I was supposed to visit this weekend, but something came up—"

"Convenient." Narrowing his eyes, Seth pointed at Braun's bag. "Call him. Now."

"What?" Braun gave up trying to reason with Seth and looked straight at Roman. "Reigns, what the hell is going on?"

Roman shook his head and stepped closer. "Becky _is_ missing, man. It's been three days, and her phone was found with a video from The Fiend on it. . . ." He took his phone out of his jeans pocket and handed it to Braun; at Seth's insistence, most of his friends now had the video on their phones, both as a backup and in the hopes that they could spot a clue Seth might have missed. While Braun watched the video, Roman pulled Seth to the side. "Watch yourself, man. You'll be no help to Becky if you get yourself pulverized."

When he was done watching the video, Braun handed back Roman's phone. "I don't know what to say, man. I mean, that's obviously The Fiend, but . . . Bray never said anything about an abduction angle, and that's some serious shit. They wouldn't just pull that without telling people in advance, would they?"

Before Seth could say anything, Roman stepped smoothly in front of him. "Would you mind calling Bray and just asking if he knows anything? Just to clear things up? Then we can tell Hunter and maybe he'll start to take this seriously. She was only scheduled for a promo tonight, so they don't have to adjust the card, but the company can't make excuses forever."

Braun frowned at that. "She's been missing for three days and the cops aren't involved? It could be some stalker fan situation." Then he reached into his bag and grabbed his phone, putting it on speaker before he dialed. "Hey, Bray."

The line crackled a bit before Bray Wyatt's voice evened out. "Braun? Hey, brother. What's up? Sorry this weekend didn't work out."

"Me too. Another time, man." Braun eyed Seth and Roman. "Hey, listen, I have you on speaker with Seth and Roman, okay?"

"Okay." Bray sounded slightly wary. "Hey, guys. What's up?"

Seth wanted to yell, to reach through the screen and strangle Bray, but Roman was watching him steadily. "Becky went missing about three days ago," he began simply. He could have told the whole story all at once, but he wanted to see if Bray was going to let anything slip first.

"Oh, man. Seth, I'm so sorry. Wow. Are there any leads?" Bray asked.

"I haven't made an official report yet. We've been asking around backstage to see if anyone knows anything," Seth said, struggling to stay calm. "And we found her phone."

"That's . . . not good. Even I know she always has her phone with her," Bray replied. "Did you get anything off it that can help?"

Seth glanced up at Roman. With each restrained word, it was getting harder and harder not to dash the phone to the floor. "There was a blurry photo." And now came the tell-tale part, the part that would reveal just how much Bray knew. "And a video of The Fiend."

"Like a promo video, you mean? That's weird. Why would she have one of my spots on her phone? I don't think I've ever mentioned her, not even in my shots at you." Bray sounded genuinely puzzled. "After the whole Corbin-Evans thing, I got the impression you two didn't want to be in storylines together, so I didn't even suggest it to Creative."

"No, not a promo video." Roman clamped down hard on Seth's shoulder, earning himself a death glare. "It's . . . actually, can we just send it to you? It'll make more sense if you see it."

"Sure. Hang on and I'll get Jojo's phone. You can send it to hers and then I don't have to mess with this piece of trash." Then there was a crackling sound, as if the phone's speaker was pressed against a crinkly fabric.

While the three men waited, clustered around Braun's phone, Seth dug the heels of his hands into his eyes. "I have to find her, Roman."

"I know. I know. And we will." Roman had tried to be positive for Seth's sake, but the lack of information was starting to drain him too.

"Hey. I'm back. Here's Jojo's number." Bray rattled off a string of numbers and less than a minute later, there was a Tinkerbell-like jingle on his end. "Heh. Sorry about that. Okay, let's see." Seth flinched under Roman's hand as he heard the words that now felt like they were seared into his memory. "Shit. Well, I can see why you think it was me, but I swear I had nothing to do with it. Three days ago, you said? I was home, man. Knash has been sick all this week and I took him to the doctor. Got the prescription and everything. I can even get my doctor to vouch for it if that will help."

The crack started out small, and in retrospect, Seth was surprised it had taken that long to spread. He felt it splintering in his mind, red and throbbing and angry, and he tugged on his hair to help clear his head. "But that's you. That's Bray. What about The Fiend? What was he doing?"

Braun and Roman exchanged a look. "The Fiend's just a mask, Seth," Roman said gently. "It's Bray in a mask. Nothing more."

"They sell replica masks online," Braun added. "It could be anyone. . . ."

"IT'S HIM! IT'S THE FIEND!" Seth surged forward, slowed only by Roman's grasp, and Braun barely evaded a punch to the throat.

All the commotion was starting to attract an audience, some with their cell phones out, and Roman quickly dragged Seth between some tall equipment trucks. "Sorry, Braun. Sorry, Bray. I've got him." After jamming his phone back in his pocket, Roman continued shoving Seth down the aisle until there was no one in earshot. "Seth, man, I get it, but you have to calm down."

" _Don't tell me to calm down!_ Seth had lowered his voice, but the sharpness in it made Roman take a step back. "He has Becky somewhere. He made that video. He has her ring. . . ."

"Come on. Let's get you some coffee," Roman suggested, "and then we'll go talk to Hunter. Becky would never miss a show without a reason, and she would definitely notify someone if she couldn't make it, so he has to know something's up."

Seth followed him more by voice than anything. His vision was flashing red, synchronized with his racing pulse and his heartsick rage. He had been apart from Becky for more than three days before, but it had never felt like this. It had never made him felt _severed_. There were always calls or texts or some silly emoji in an Instagram comment. The darkest parts of him—the parts that hoarded every mistake and lapse he had ever made—haunted him with a parade of his past transgressions: cheating, affairs, bad behaviour. _You don't deserve her. You never did. And now she's gone. Because of you. You fucked up your first engagement. You fucked up The Shield. And now—_

Maybe it was some internal self-defense mechanism. Maybe it was just adrenaline, the way it could almost make him have an out-of-body experience when he first stepped out onto the stage. But the next thing he knew, Roman was knocking on Hunter's door. "Seth, you okay? You look like you zoned out there for a minute."

"Yeah, I'm—" Seth went to rub his eyes and found he was holding a cup of coffee. "Yeah."

"We'll talk to Hunter," Roman decreed, "and then you're taking a damn nap. Your match isn't until the third hour. You have time."

Seth didn't argue. A darkness had settled over his mind and all his heart wanted to do was join it.


	6. Chapter 6

Days had passed, though Becky wasn't sure how. Time seemed strangely stiff in her room, crunchy and acrid like caramel left to burn. She had counted three long sleeps, though, and even with all the travel she did with WWE, her sleep schedule was usually pretty reliable. She had given up on singing to track time, because the lyrics started to feel like gibberish and she didn't want to sour herself on her favourite songs. _When I'm in the light,_ she thought, _I'm going to listen to so much music. Hours of it._

_When I'm in the light._ She had stopped thinking in terms of _When I'm free_ at least a day ago. Could she ever be free of this place? Darkness would always have a texture to her now, somewhere between oily and velvety, sickening and soothing. She wasn't sure if she could ever drink plain water again. The fridge was always restocked with her favourite no-prep foods somehow, but now all she wanted were simple, unattainable things: greasy French fries from her favourite food truck, fancy coffee from Seth's café, the first fruits of the season. She wanted her life back. She wanted _life_ back, plain and simple, not this weird sensory-deprived stasis.

As soon as Becky had rolled out of bed from her fourth long sleep, however, she realized something had changed. Her bed was no longer in the corner, because there were no more corners. All the walls were curved, both horizontally and vertically, and when she climbed on the bed and jumped up, her fingers could just barely brush the hint of a ceiling. A quick perimeter check revealed that the room was definitely smaller too, and reconfigured. The dresser was now between the bed and the bathroom, taking Becky by surprise and bruising her shins. _How does the shower fit now that the walls are curved?_ she wondered, taking stock of the small space. Sure enough, everything felt like it was how she had left it.

The fridge was right on the other side of the bathroom, and then it was a short walk back around to the nightstand. There was barely enough room to pace, let alone anything else. To pass the time, Becky had started trying to scale the various equipment-free workouts Joshy had taught her to her surroundings; there wouldn't be many left that she could do now. "What the hell?"

She jumped at the sound of her own voice; unless one of The Fiend's minions was there, she had mostly been talking in her head, trying to give nothing of herself to the darkness. She didn't even really like sleeping; she worried that she might miss some brief window of opportunity in which a hidden door opened or something. _Where did my accent go?_ Becky wondered as her voice echoed in her ears, which were hungry and desperate for sound of any kind. Surely a few days without talking couldn't erase her accent so swiftly. Well, there was one way to find out. "Rabbit?" she called out. He had been visiting less and less, and he was more skittish each time.

Becky called for Ramblin' Rabbit a few more times, but was met by her constant companions: silence and darkness. Eventually she decided to go through what she had started to call her morning routine, even though it could be seven at night for all she knew. A trip to the bathroom first, her reservations about the shower having lost out to the comfort of clean skin. Then she went the fridge to assemble a small, lonely meal. She didn't like eating on the bed, but the rocking chair unnerved her. It could be completely empty and start rocking for no reason, its creaks and groans worming through the darkness and under her skin. After she finished a bowl of cereal—or what she sincerely hoped was cereal and not an assortment of crunchy insects—Becky returned her food items to the fridge. She had tried squirreling away the butter knife once in hopes of using it as a weapon, but another one never appeared. There was only ever one: one plate, one bowl, one glass, one cup, one set of utensils. That scuttled her plans to break the plate and try using its sharp edges to open up the mattress or try gouge into the walls.

"Abby?" Calling the witch was a riskier proposition, mostly because she was so mercurial. Ever since she thought Becky didn't think she was real, her visits had been brief and terse. "Sister Abigail?" Becky tried next. Perhaps some formality would win her over. 

Becky carved her way through another block of time by trying to work out. She didn't particularly want to invoke Huskus or Mercy, but both the pig and the buzzard would be preferable to The Fiend. So far, though, Huskus had never been in to visit her, at least not that she was aware of; it was a shame, because he at least seemed like he could be bribed with food. Mercy was an unknown, which could be a blessing in disguise. "Mercy?" Paige would probably try something more like _Oi, bird brain!_ , but Becky wanted an ally, not an adversary.

_I was wondering when you'd finally get to me._ It was a croaking voice, one forced up a long throat and losing a bit of definition each step of the way; it was the closest to Bray's presence Becky had felt in this place. _Guess you think I should be honoured that you called for me before the pig?_

"No, but—" Becky thought back to what she figured was her first day, or at least when she first became aware. "Ramblin' Rabbit said you were guarding the room and making sure The Fiend didn't get in. Why aren't you outside?"

_Wouldn't you like to know?_ The buzzard's hacking cough grated on her ears.

"The room's changed. It used to be square before; there were corners. Now it's rounder and it's smaller. What's going on?" Becky had a sickening feeling that she knew, but she wanted someone else's voice to say it. Then it wouldn’t feel quite so much like admitting defeat.

Mercy laughed again, and Becky through she heard the rustle of frayed wings. _Didn't that old witch tell you?_

"Abby?" Becky started walking around the room slowly, sweeping a foot back and forth. Since Mercy could undoubtedly see and hear her, there was no reason to be sneaky. "She said I couldn't see because I didn't believe. But what does that have to do with the room being smaller?"

_Nope, you don't get it! I thought blondes were supposed to be the dumb ones, not redheads! Then again, you ain't a real redhead at all. Not a real redhead, not a real man: Why do you keep trying to be things you're not?_ That last bit sounded suspiciously like The Fiend, at least in its wording.

"Why is the room smaller?" Becky wasn't about to be distracted by a mangy bird. "Why is it round now? Where did he move me?"

_He?_ Mercy's echoing of her question seemed to circle the room. _What makes you think HE has anything to do with this? What makes you think HE moved you anywhere? This darkness? This isolation? That's all on you, ginger snap._

Becky stopped where she was. Mercy's voice sounded like it was behind her, but the wing sound was more to her left. "That makes no sense. I didn't abduct myself."

_Didn't you?_ Mercy chuckled until he choked on his own breath and started to cough. 

"Of course not!" Becky snapped, making a mad dash to her left. There was no rush of wings or indignant squawk, but she sensed movement from Mercy all the same. "Why would I?"

_Admit it. You like it here. Everything you need—bed, clothes, food, bathroom—without all the trappings. No media events. No fan signings. No more same match for the tenth time. No more Charlotte hogging the spotlight. No more Seth being so damn needy._ Mercy's voice dropped to a rasp. _Isn't it relaxing? All this time to just spend on yourself?_

Becky shook her head. She wasn't going to let some stupid bird turn her against the people she loved most. "No. Charlotte's an incredible performer and she deserves everything she's got and then some. And Seth is one of the most caring people I've ever known. They make my life so much better."

_Do they, though?_ There was a sudden swoop by Becky's head and she dropped into a crouch. _When was the last time you thought about them in here? You sing your little songs and do your little exercises, but when was the last time you thought about your friends or your fiancé?_

She couldn't answer, because Mercy would twist her reply into something horrible. It was true: she had stopped thinking about Seth, about Charlotte and the rest of her friends, about her family and her career. But it was a measure of self-preservation, not selfishness. She had tried focusing on Seth before, on all the good things in her life, holding them in her heart like a beacon to guide her through the darkness, but all it had done was tear her apart inside. To preserve what sanity she could, she had to shut all of that out—and now she was seeing the effects. A life with the bare essentials was so small; it was her friendships, her work, her fiancé that made everything matter. 

_This isn't some kid show, you know: You can't wish everything back and make it all better._ Mercy's voice was venomous and Becky tried to focus on the words and not the tone. If she could just be objective, maybe she could find a way out of this.

"Maybe not," Becky admitted. The room had probably started changing long before she had noticed, a sign of her dwindling focus. But she wasn't powerless. Her workouts and her diet hadn't been ideal, but at least she hadn't been wasting away in bed. Even though it hurt, she opened her mind up again, letting memories and emotions trickle back in. Leaving home to pursue wrestling. Meeting Charlotte and Sasha and Bayley. Kissing Seth for the first time. She couldn't let the darkness take those things away.

The next time Mercy swooped at her, spitting out more vitriol, she was ready. _Thanks for the ball throw drills, Joshy,_ she thought as she leapt up and caught the buzzard mid-swoop. It wasn't graceful, but she pinned his wings to his body and wrapped an arm around him, squeezing her free hand around his throat. "How do I get out of here?" she growled. She wasn't sure where the bird's ears were, but the room was small and quiet, and he was close enough that he couldn't help but hear her.

Mercy's laugh sounded like a smoker's cough now, coming out in wheezes. _I'm just a bird. I don't know nothin'._

"Then who does?" Becky couldn't tell if her eyes were open or shut anymore—it made no difference in her perception, so she didn't pay much attention to them—but the darkness was starting to throb and perhaps it was just her frustration pulsing in her mind, but the blackness seemed to have red undertones now, like veins growing to feed a new muscle. "Abby? Does she know?"

_Like the witch would help you!_ Mercy struggled in her grip, but Becky was relentless. For days she had been devoured from the inside out by her pent-up energy, desperate to break something. As tempting as it had been at times, she had refrained from turning that bloodlust on herself—but now she had a target for all her rage. _You made this cage, Becky, and you locked yourself in it the minute you became The Man!_

"Keep squawking, bird," Becky muttered, striding back to her bed. The nightstand was simple and rather useless without a lamp, but it did have one handy feature: a drawer. Struggling to hold on to Mercy with just one arm, Becky pulled out the drawer and upended it on the bed, dumping out the few things she had kept close to hand: some granola bars, a bottle of water, a few pairs of socks. Then she slid it back in and shoved Mercy's head inside just before it closed completely. "How do I get out?" Each word was like a blow from a sledgehammer, and she could feel the bird's body tense up in her grasp.

_I don't know, I swear! No one tells me anything. Rabbit hasn't trusted me since I ate him that one time and Abby's a conniving old hag,_ Mercy blubbered, frantically trying to flap his wings. 

Even though she couldn’t see anything, Becky instinctively looked away as she slammed the drawer shut on the buzzard's head. His anguished screech made her gut wrench, but she bashed his head twice more before stopping to calm herself down. "How did you get in? If Bray left you outside to keep out The Fiend, you had to get in somehow. . . ."

_It was you! You let me in! You let all of us in! I told you, you made this place! This darkness is all you!_

The red pulsed relentlessly, hot and sticky like blood. Becky slammed the drawer to its rhythm, over and over until her hand was aching and hot and sticky too, until the fight had fallen away from Mercy's body and he could only make pitiful little squawks. Shaking, Becky went as far from her bed as she could and dumped the bird's broken body to the floor. Then she hurried to the bathroom, not even wincing when she ran into something on the way. It was in the middle of the floor and should have intrigued her—anything new in this oubliette should have been a cause for investigation—but the blood was starting to congeal on her hands and she was desperate to wash it away.

Becky stood with her hands under the water for a long while, losing her thoughts in the rushing sound. Once she dried her hands, she went back to where she had dumped Mercy's body and wasn't surprised to find it gone. The drawer was back the way it had been as well, all her items back inside and not a spot of blood to be felt anywhere on the nightstand. "Mercy?" she whispered into the darkness, more a dare to herself than anything. "Abby? Rabbit?"

She kept saying the names over and over the way a child says a prayer they don't truly understand, but now when she looked at the darkness, Becky couldn't help but see the red beneath, angry and seething. _I want the blackness back,_ she thought as she buried herself under all the covers. _I don't like the red me._


	7. Chapter 7

Seth wasn't sure which felt longer: the days or the nights. At least during the day, there were things to do, more ways to keep himself occupied. His friends must have conspired behind his back to make sure someone was almost always with him, and the wrestling school was in one of its busy seasons. Hunter had arranged a suspension storyline for him so he could concentrate on finding Becky, but Seth was sure it had more to do with making sure he didn't start burning down arenas. It had been five days, almost six, since Becky had gone missing now, and he didn't know anything more than he did from that first call with Joshy.

The days, filled as they were with friends and activities, still rang hollow with loneliness. The nights, though, felt like howls in the distance, eerie and predatory. In the past few months, there had hadn't been many nights Seth had slept alone. The bed seemed ridiculously large and empty without Becky in it, hogging the covers and cuddling up to him. He missed her laugh, her silly jokes, even her ridiculous questions about football. In a moment of weakness, he had even bought some chocolate mints, almost like an offering. _Please, just bring her back. She can eat as many chocolate mints as she wants and I will never complain again. Just let me have her back._

Mornings had developed a routine. He would get up, shower, have breakfast, and then do a circuit of the house, checking every room. His phone resided in one pocket, Becky's in the other; every once in a while Becky's would ping, but it was usually from someone who didn't know she was missing, and Seth left the calls unanswered. Sometimes her friends would text, but all the ones who knew she was missing would simply send a heart with a clover leaf. "Love you, Irish," Seth said to the air, checking rooms again on his way back to the bedroom to get ready. There were no classes scheduled at the wrestling academy that day, but Marek had suggested they work out together and Seth figured the exertion might help dispel the thickening fog in his head. How did this happen? Becky was strong and loud and feisty; people like that didn't go missing without a trace.

The gaming room was empty, save for some beer cans from when Roman had been over to keep him company. _I'll take those out later,_ he thought, shutting the door behind him. The living room was equally empty, especially without all those small hints of Becky's presence that he hadn't even noticed until they were no longer there. Dining room, den, bathroom: all empty, all normal. The guest bedrooms were as his friends had left them, some ready to be used again in the near future and others already tidied. Becky's room, for when she needed privacy or just some space; Seth couldn't bear to linger there long.

With a sigh, he forced himself into the master bedroom. All the furniture and decorations were still his, but he considered it Becky's room as much as his own. _Ours._ He grabbed a duffel bag from the closet and stuffed his regular workout gear inside, securing Becky's phone in one of the inner pockets. As he laced his shoes, he took stock of the room, just to quiet the desperation in his brain a bit. Becky's clothes were still in the closet and the few drawers he'd cleaned out for her. One of her lacier bras was dangling off the dresser, a memory from a happier time he couldn't bring himself to tuck away. Her phone charger was on the nightstand, her messy red hair was draped across the pillow, her robe was hanging—

Seth froze, dropping his gym bag to the floor. He had seen _The Godfather_ enough times to fear the worst. _No. No, no, no._ The covers were too rumpled to tell what was beneath them, so he dashed over and pulled them back before he could lose his nerve.

Becky was curled up the way she normally did if he wasn't in bed with her, with her wrists crossed and curled close to her chest, one ankle tucked behind the other. She looked pale, but she shivered when the covers were taken away, huddling up into an even smaller ball. _She moved. She's here and SHE MOVED._ Seth stumbled back and nearly tripped over something; glancing down, he saw her workout shoes at his feet, their laces neatly tucked inside. Even though he had watched the 'Gym all to myself' video easily a hundred times or more, he couldn't be sure, but he thought she was wearing the same clothes as well. "Becky?" It was a plea and a sob all in one, and he sank to his knees beside the bed, not believing his eyes. She'd been gone for days; he'd just been in that same bed less than half an hour ago. What was going on?

Becky's eyes fluttered open and then immediately flinched shut before she buried her face in the pillow. "Where's all the light coming from?" she mumbled, reflexively reaching down to pull the blankets back up.

" _Becky._ Seth was almost hyperventilating, his thoughts racing. "Becky, wake up." He reached up gingerly and shook her elbow, moving between her and the window to block some of the light.

Becky finally turned her face to his and opened her eyes cautiously. Seth could see that they were slightly bloodshot and dark underneath, as if she hadn't been getting enough rest. "How is it so bright?" Her croaking voice almost drowned out her accent completely.

" _Becky._ " Seth couldn’t think of anything else to say. He hauled himself up onto the bed and helped her sit, hugging her so tightly that she whimpered. "Sorry, sorry. God, fuck, I was so worried." He gathered her into his lap as best he could, trying to tell if she was in one piece. To his surprise, she smelled like . . . herself, like she always did; he recognized the scent of her favourite shampoo, the body wash she always used—and that he had admittedly started using in her absence. Her engagement ring was blessedly where it should be. By all appearances, she seemed intact.

Silent and subtly shaking, Becky curled into him, eyelashes fluttering against his neck, and Seth was too busy hugging her and crying and trying to catch his breath to care. When she pulled her head up, though, her eyes were hazy. "When did the corners come back?" she asked, gazing at the nearest corner. "Does this mean I'm not red anymore?"

"Becks. . . ." Nothing she was saying made sense. Seth grabbed a handful of bedsheets and dried his face before standing up, pulling her along with him. "Come on. I have to call some people, but I'll get you something to eat first."

Becky blinked at him. "It's not eating time yet. I only had the short sleep." When Seth tried to coax her past her shoes, her gaze caught on the nightstand and she cowered behind him. "No. _No_. I have corners again! That means I'm not red anymore!"

"Come on." Seth quickly steered her out of the bedroom and eased her down the stairs. He thought she might stumble over the steps, but she was surprisingly strong and reactive. _What happened to you?_ he thought as he helped her sit on the couch and she patted the cushions on either side of her, as if surprised by the bounty of space. "Becks, I just have to call some people, okay?" So many people would want to know she was found, but Seth didn't feel comfortable leaving her alone. He called Roman first, telling him the bare bones of the story and promising more details later; Roman offered to call Hunter, Charlotte, Sasha, and Bayley, which freed Seth to call Joshy and then Marek. Other calls could wait. "God, I missed you so much." Seth knelt in front of Becky and stroked her cheek. Touching her probably wasn't wise—she was clearly in shock, traumatized—but he needed to reassure himself that she was real.

Becky gazed around the room the way a child scans the night sky for stars. "How did you make it so bright?" She sounded half enraptured, half terrified. "And you brought the corners back!" Her mouth curved in an awestruck smile. "And you found _doors!_ "

It was The Fiend's doing. It had to be. Seth didn't even want to think about what Becky had endured or for how long. "There's lots of doors here," he promised, "and light in every room. Let's go get you something to eat."

When Becky rose on her own, Seth breathed a sigh of relief, but then she started heading back to the stairs. "The fridge is beyond the bathroom," she explained, blinking slowly. "And the bathroom's past the bed. The chair was in between, but I moved it. . . ."

What could he say to that? "There's another fridge here," he managed, lightly cupping her elbow and steering her towards the kitchen. "It's better, I promise."

But Becky hesitated on the threshold, eyes going wide. "There's no light at the end."

Seth followed her frantic gaze to the end of the kitchen, where the light from the windows never quite reached. "I'll turn on the light." He waited until Becky was watching him to flip on the switch. "Better?"

She flinched from the light again, but she still nodded. "More corners," she said, trailing a hand along the wall. "That's good."

"There's corners in every room. I'll show you." Seth knew he probably shouldn't be feeding into her delusions, but he didn't know what else to do. He vaguely caught the sound of her phone ringing upstairs, but she didn't seem to recognize the tone. "But you should eat something first."

Becky moved from the wall to the fridge, gazing up at it like a monument. "Is there water?"

"Um . . . yeah. Of course." Seth pulled one of the fridge's French-style doors opened and pulled out a bottle of Becky's favourite water, which she quickly snatched from him and clutched to her chest, her fingers dancing over its contours as if she were reading Braille. "Becky, when you're ready," he hazarded, watching her closely, "you know you can tell me anything, right?"

"It'll sound different here. There's so much light. The darkness won't swallow all the words." Then she reached up and touched her mouth, her throat. "Is my accent back?"

Seth felt tears pricking at his eyes again. God, this was heartbreaking. He couldn't do this alone. "You sound a little rough," he allowed, "but there's no doubting you're Irish." Since she wasn't giving him an answer about breakfast, he grabbed some fruit off the counter, put it in a bowl, and steered her back to the living room. She ate her way through the fruit with military precision, but when she went to take her bowl back into the kitchen, she stopped in front of the fridge. "Still hungry?" Seth called out, leaping to his feet. He might not understand what was going on in her head, but he could at least make sure she was eating.

Becky shook her head, looking up at the tall refrigerator. "I need to get the bowl up there so it's taken away. Only the things on the fridge get taken back."

_What the everloving fuck?_ Seth gently took the bowl from her hands. "The sink does that here. I'll wash it later and put it back. Let's go back upstairs. I want to show you something." Was he making everything worse? How could he tell? Becky was gawking around at his house like she was on a spaceship. The nightstand in the bedroom had frightened her, yet even though she flinched from the light, she craved it. She was fine all along the hallway, but hesitated in the doorway to the bedroom, even after he turned on the lights. "If I turn them around," Seth offered, going in first and patting his nightstand, "is that okay?"

Panicked tears glittering in her eyes, Becky nodded. "I didn't want things to go red," she said softly, crawling back into the bed and pulling up the covers. "There's not enough blankets." 

Seth finished turning both nightstands so their drawers faced the wall before sitting by Becky. "Are you cold?" It was a silly question; she could be cold in Florida of all places. "I can get you my hoodie. You love wearing that one."

But Becky shook her head, tears starting to spill. "Eight blankets. None the same. I counted."

"Okay." When Seth kissed the top of her head, he thought she might jerk away or hit him. He didn't expect her to bawl, her sobs almost like guttural howls. "Okay, blankets." Seth tended to be warm, so most of the blankets in his house were recent purchases for Becky's sake. He did have an old patchwork quilt his grandmother made and a crocheted afghan from a well-intentioned aunt, so he put those on a pile. _Six more to go_. He hoped the duvet on the bed would at least count as one. It was sheer agony to hear Becky wailing, see her with her legs pulled up to her chest and her face pressed to her knees, but he could only reach her in small ways, and right now that way appeared to be blankets.

Once he had gathered enough, Seth set the pile by Becky and she promptly started layering them on and around her in some arcane order. Each blanket seemed to calm her down somewhat until she was only sniffling at the end, her face red and stricken. "Thank you."

"You're welcome." Then Seth gingerly patted the spot beside her. "Can I sit?" When Becky nodded, he grabbed her phone from his bag and brought it over, sitting close enough that she could cuddle if she wanted, but giving her the option for space. Looking down at her phone, though, he wasn't sure how to start. How much of her ordeal did she remember? Would asking her about it—referencing it, even—make her shut down? "I was so worried about you," he said at last, figuring that was vague enough. "So were your friends. Our friends." He entered her passcode quickly and gave her a sheepish smile. "Um, yeah. I kinda guessed your code. You might want to change that later. Good thing I have a good memory for hotel room numbers, huh?" He looked at her expectantly, but her eyes were too tear-clouded to read well. "Anyway, they sent you a lot of messages. Here's some from Charlotte."

From the minute she had known Becky was missing, Charlotte had been dutifully sending messages big and small, from pictures of their early days in NXT to simple heart emojis. Becky's expression softened as Seth scrolled through them. "She's so pretty," Becky murmured. "The darkness tried to make her ugly to me, but I knew better. I think."

"And here's some from Bayley and Sasha." The other Horsewomen had gone for a more light-hearted approach, sending pictures of their dogs in goofy costumes or silly memes. "Roman and Joshy have been helping a lot too. Everyone's so happy you're back. They'll all want to see you," Seth added, "but only when you're ready."

Becky nodded shakily. "The brightness is big enough for that. We couldn't all fit in the dark." Then she straightened up a bit. "I didn't do it right! Shower before food. But I've already eaten."

Seth wasn't sure he trusted her in a shower—or a tub, for that matter—but if he went in with her, even fully clothed, she might think he expected something. "The shower was being fixed," he fibbed gently. "Why don't you rest for a bit? It'll be done by the time you wake up."

"You'll wake me up when it's ready?" Becky wrapped both her arms around one of his, looking lost and small.

"Of course." Seth set her phone aside. "I can leave, if you want—"

"No!" Becky clutched his arm tighter, making some of her blankets fall away. "Stay? Please?"

"Of course," he repeated gently, tucking Becky back into her cocoon of blankets. "I have a few calls to make, but I'll talk quietly, okay?"

Smiling shakily, Becky reached up and stroked his beard. "Your voice sounds different in the light too." Since she had just woken up, Seth didn't expect her to nod off quickly, but Becky was sleeping again in minutes, huddled against his side in her blankets. 

Once she seemed to be deeply asleep, Seth started making more calls. The first was to Hunter, hoping to arrange a psychological assessment for Becky; if she didn't want to confide in him, she had to talk to someone. Then he called Roman, letting himself break down a bit as he tried to describe Becky's odd behaviour. After giving Joshy, Charlotte, and their other closest friends an update, Seth made what might have been the hardest call. "Hey, Bray, it's Seth."

"Hey, man. I don't want to be an ass," Bray said, sounded frazzled, "but this isn't a great time—"

"I'll be quick. I just wanted to say that Becky's back and . . . I wanted to apologize. I shouldn't have accused you." His first instinct was still to think that The Fiend was responsible, but he had to be open to other possibilities. Becky had a lot of fans, and a large part of her male fanbase got pissy as soon as she announced that she was dating Seth; maybe one had used the convenience of Seth's new feud with The Fiend to lure Becky away somehow. "I was just worried and—"

"I'm glad she's back," Bray replied, watery sounds in the background almost drowning out his voice, "and I totally understand where you were coming from, but I gotta go. The original old farmhouse is on fire and the wind's picking up."

Seth's eyebrows rose. "Shit, man. Good luck putting it out. I hope no one's inside."

"Nah. It was pretty derelict. I used it mostly for drinking with friends away from the kids, you know? Had some old furniture in there, a fridge with some beers. Probably some faulty wiring that did it." Bray gave a rueful chuckle. "But I should get back helping the guys keep it in check before it can spread to the other buildings. . . ."

"Right. So . . . sorry again. And good luck." After he disconnected, Seth set his phone by Becky's, cuddling closer to her. All her talk about darkness and corners made no sense to him, but she was back. The rest could be figured out later; for now, he was going hold on tight.


	8. Chapter 8

It was hard to see if you didn't know what you were looking at. Becky was getting used to the brightness again, even if Seth did make a point of going ahead of her and turning on any light she might need. Corners were reassuring too, and she had grown to like the larger, better-stocked fridge, even if her initial instinct was still to put her used plates on top of it rather than in the sink. Seth never yelled, never got angry, never judged. He just gently guided or suggested, though sometimes she heard him seek out darkness deeper in the house, where he talked to people she couldn't hear. Sometimes he cried too. She probably wasn't supposed to know about either one.

More and more, she recognized things. Words were coming back to her. She knew her way around the house and was even comfortable enough to start deviating from her routine. Showers came after breakfast now, sometimes even after lunch; sometimes they were baths instead, lounging in warm, deep water—sometimes with Seth, sometimes not—until her world wasn't black or red but a hazy, soothing silver. Seth didn't want her to go to the gym yet, but she was working out with the equipment in his house and the rhythms of it, the weights and the burn, made her haggardly happy.

But there were gaps too, chasms of confusion, and though she tried to sweep her mind for them the same way she had explored the floor of the darkness, Becky couldn't always spot them in time to cover them with a tidy lie. When Seth had mentioned guessing her phone code, he seemed so proud, so pleased, and she felt like she should know why. The number came to her fingers easily—1031—but she couldn't remember its significance. She wanted to reply to her friends, the ones whose faces had helped her endure the darkness, but she didn't understand all their messages. Why did Charlotte keep referencing oranges? Why did Roman keep sending her a punching emoji? The brightness was more comfortable, but the darkness made so much more sense. And the red. . . .

No. She wouldn't think about the red. The nightstands had been turned around ever since she got home, even the ones in the guest rooms, and Becky tried to be brave the other day when Seth was in the shower. _He'll be so proud!_ she thought. _I'm making progress!_ But the instant her hand curved around the corner, ready to turn the piece of furniture around, she heard the gargling of blood, the thrashing of feathers, and she stumbled back.

No, she wasn't strong enough to face the red yet.

She wasn't up to visits either, although Seth helped guide her through short phone calls. It had been tricky when her mother had called, though. "She doesn't know anything," Seth whispered when he saw the number on the screen. "I didn't want to worry her."

Worry her about what? Becky wasn't entirely sure. Seth had suggested feigning tiredness—no challenge there, since she seemed to crave sleep the way he craved coffee—and soon enough her mother was fretting that she was ill, telling her to get enough rest, and then asking to talk to Seth to make sure he was taking proper care of her.

"Maybe it'll help if she sees some familiar faces," Charlotte had said to Seth once, in a call Becky was fairly certain she wasn't supposed to overhear. "I can come whenever she needs me, Seth. I don't mind. I already told Hunter I would drop everything to go help Becky."

"He's already got two stars off his plate," Seth had replied, sounding slightly wistful. Becky reckoned he probably missed wrestling. He needed the adulation, an outlet for his energy. The darkness had said he was needy, hadn't it? Or was that the red? Sometimes she wasn't so sure they weren't one and the same.

As they soaked in the deep bath, Becky's back against his chest, she shut her eyes. She needed the darkness for this. Waking or sleeping, she needed a light on, but if she wanted to get close to the truth, she needed the dark. "You should go to the event on Monday. They miss you."

Seth kissed the top of her head. "They miss you too. But I'd miss you more. And you need me more. RAW will be fine without us for a few weeks."

Becky reached for the hand that was resting on her hip and she traced its knuckles. "Go," she insisted. "I'll be okay. Roman or Charlotte could stay with me. You said I should start meeting with friends again." When she tilted her head back, she could see the worries compounding in Seth's eyes. He had become a creature of routine just as much as she had, forced to move to her new and erratic rhythms.

"Do you think you're ready?" Seth rubbed her arm with his other hand. He was doing his best not to baby her, but she could tell there were times when he didn't know what to do. Sometimes he looked at her like she was his fiancée, but others. . . .

"I don't know," she admitted, "but I'll never know unless we try." After a long moment, she added, "I want to move the nightstands back. Can we?"

Seth's arm tightened around her. "We can try," he hedged, "but are you sure? I know you tried the other day. . . ."

Becky was torn between rage and sorrow. She had thought her attempt was subtle enough to go unnoticed, but of course Seth had known. He knew everything. He probably even knew where the darkness was. "I need to try."

She didn't do it in a rush, though. She took her time drying off and slipping into her fluffy bathrobe—definitely none of those in the darkness—and then faced the nightstand on her side of the bed, still heaped high with blankets. Poor Seth probably felt like he was sleeping next to a furnace. "Take your time," he said softly, standing on the other side of the bed to give her space.

Before she could talk herself out of it, Becky grabbed the nightstand and wrenched it around, nearly making the lamp topple over. Then she wiggled it back into place. There. Done. All she had to do was look down. 

_Look at the drawer. See the blood. See the broken bird in your murdering hands._

She clenched her hands into fists once and then relaxed her fingers before turning to look at Seth. "One down, one to go." In this room, anyway. The guest rooms could wait.

Seth's smile was worth the vision of blood, the tension in her arms, and Becky turned his nightstand around and righted it just as quickly. "Good job." He approached her slowly, enfolding her in a gentle hug. "I'll go call Roman and see if he can come visit."

"I'm going to get a snack." Becky trotted down the stairs, ignoring the dark rooms to either side and turning on lights as she went. The other day she even got halfway through an unlit room before she panicked and retreated, planting herself in front of the nearest window like a cat seeking a sunbeam. The kitchen was a fairly safe place, though, full of corners and light and that glorious fridge. It squealed when she opened it, which she didn't remember it doing before, and then the light flickered. A squeak, a laugh, an oink, a squawk: they all coalesced into two words, words beyond the darkness, beyond the unrelenting black, even beyond the fiendish red. 

_We're here_.


End file.
